


For the Sake of Blackberries

by ThatOneChemistryNerd



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dwalin Is A Softie, Gen, He's also really hates mannish (cough cough american) gingerbread, Hope this is at least somewhat close to what you had in mind, I had some other 'vignette' stories I wanted to add but couldn't get the flow right, So I feel like I read something about Dwalin and food as holiday gifts before, Thorin was a very mischevious dwarfling, but I've had this rattling around my head since the cookie jar in an Unexpected Journey so..., happy holidays!, i wish this was longer, if you want me to tack them on in a later chapter or something please tell me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 09:56:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13121337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneChemistryNerd/pseuds/ThatOneChemistryNerd
Summary: Bilbo decides to utilize his baking talent to create culinary gifts for his friends for yule, but one gift in particular means a lot more than he might have thought.





	For the Sake of Blackberries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TJ_73](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TJ_73/gifts).



Bilbo was doing his very best not to laugh. He really was trying, but keeping his giggles contained was more difficult than he’d thought when Dwalin looked the way he did. Not to say it was a bad thing, not at all, simply that it warranted great levels of amusement.

 

                Like most hobbits, Bilbo was very fond of cooking- baking in particular and if he said so himself he was quite good at it. His apple turnovers had won the annual Hobbiton baking contest every year they’d been entered after all. As such, with the restoration of Erebor limiting trade to more essential things like food and tools and other raw materials needed just to make the mountain habitable, this yule Bilbo had found it easiest to scrape together some extra ingredients from the kitchens and put his own skills to the test.

                Bilbo had put great thought into each confection, recalling fondly the moment just an hour or so after meeting the dwarf when Dwalin had been caught like a fauntling with his great paw of a hand stuck in the mouth of Bilbo’s cookie jar. It hadn’t been nearly as endearing at the time, but having taken the time to learn about Dwalin and become friends with him Bilbo had unearthed his friend’s sweet tooth and took great enjoyment in exploiting it whenever possible.

                Deciding that it was both appropriate and properly amusing, Erebor’s resident hobbit had decided to recreate the very same gingersnap cookies Dwalin had been so keen on acquiring upon their first meeting. He hadn’t been expecting this response though.

                He’d packed the cookies into a little silver tin with rubies on the edges and on the clasp at the front- the least ostentatious piece he could find that was the right size- and handed it to Dwalin with a sample and strict instructions not to open the rest until yule the following day. As expected Dwalin had scarfed the sample cookie quickly, but almost immediately afterwards his expression had suddenly turned soft and a little tearful. When Bilbo had nervously suggested that he could take them back and make something different, Dwalin had clutched the tin like a lifeline and gave a frantic shout of “No!” that seemed to surprise even him.

                Bilbo hadn’t understood at the time, and he still really didn’t, but having decided that the wiser course of action was to not question it and move on he was now sitting in the company common room on yule watching Dwalin alternate between cradling the tin of cookies like it was both a small bird that he was afraid to hurt and something infinitely precious and guarding it viciously from the other dwarrow who were all busy feasting on their own creations and trying to sneak from everyone else’s. It was one of the funniest things he’d seen all month.

 

 

                The first thing that came to Dwalin’s mind when he bit into the sample cookie Bilbo had given him was that it had been almost exactly 172 years since he had last tasted gingersnap cookies. The second was that it had been almost 172 years because 172 years ago was when his mother died, and she had been the one to make the last batch of gingersnap cookies Dwalin had ever eaten.

He’d been horrified to even think that Bilbo might take away such a meaningful gift, not realizing that the hobbit would have no idea _why_ it was so meaningful until after he had shouted out his refusal and hurried back to his rooms.

It was the start of a very introspective day for Dwalin, in the year since they’d reclaimed Erebor he’d not really taken the time to reacquaint himself with the city, or with the many memories it held, but it seemed Bilbo’s cookies were a good enough motivator. It didn’t really become full reminiscence until Thorin brought it up at the company’s yule gathering the following day, having been the only one who had quick enough reflexes to swipe one of the cookies.

He’d taken one bite and with round eyes proclaimed, “These are just like Nithi’s. Perhaps even better…” trailing off into food-awed wonder.

Dwalin might have taken offense to him saying that Bilbo’s cookies were better than his mother’s, but even he had grudgingly admit such to himself in the privacy of his own rooms last night.

It was alright he supposed. Nithi would have been overjoyed to have someone on her level to talk baking with- she probably would have stolen Bilbo out from under the company in a second flat had she still been alive. He had a feeling she would have potentially even gotten Bilbo to share his own mother’s blackberry tart recipe- something Dwalin had watched him guard jealously and with the tenacity of a dragon. Bombur had been quite disheartened until Dwalin had bribed the hobbit on Thorin’s behalf to trade in a different blackberry recipe.

It had been quite a convoluted thing in hindsight- fueled admittedly partly by Dwalin’s own sweet tooth as well as his friend’s eternal weakness for blackberries. Bombur tended to make things en mass as the royal chef was want to do, and Thorin was greatly disappointed when his source of blackberry treats remained limited to those he could coax out of Bilbo. As such, by virtue of being Thorin’s best (and for quite a while only) friend who would actually sit through his moaning, Dwalin got quite an earful about how much of a shame it was.

He might have held out longer had he not already known the process- oddly enough, the last time(s) Thorin had been denied sweets in a situation when he really though that shouldn’t have been the case were with Nithi.

The most memorable experience occurred when Dwalin had been only 9, still just a dwarfling with Thorin not that far ahead (though he often tried to pretend being older made him superior until Dwalin had started calling him ‘old man’ at which point he promptly- and wisely- closed his mouth).

Nithi had gotten in a fresh crop of blackberries earlier that day, and as Thorin seemed to have a seventh sense for whenever such things were in the mountain he’d come barreling down to Dwalin’s family quarters demanding to be fed. Both Thorin and Dwalin- and anyone who had her cooking really- knew that if one was privileged enough to be able to do so, one should do their best to get their hands on some of Nithi’s work, pastries especially.

Unfortunately for Thorin- and Dwalin who was always an opportunist for free food- she had taken one look at the pair of them and declared, in the nicest words, that they were to bugger off somewhere else and not bother her until she had finished all her work for the day and they had finished all their dinner that night.

As they had sulkily slunk out of the kitchen Dwalin had caught sight of the recipe she was intending on using the blackberries in and the moment he told Thorin it was the beginning of the end.

Dwalin should have known really. Being friends with the prince was great for a lot of things, but the incessant royal whining was not one of them. It had taken a long while for Dwalin to learn to ignore Thorin when he was in a Mood, and an even longer time for Thorin to curb himself when he was in one. Even still, Dwalin was lured easily by talk of sugar and the wish to get Thorin to shut up about the blackberries so the two of them took the time they were supposed to be studying their letters to formulate what became known to them (and their immediate relations, as Dis still brought it up when she needed blackmail material at family dinners- _“you weren’t even alive then!”_ Thorin liked to cry, but blackmail was blackmail to Dis) as the Great Blackberry Heist.

 

He didn’t think this was a good idea. He didn’t think this was a good idea _at all_. But he had agreed and Thorin had proclaimed in his best kingly voice that the crown prince couldn’t be betrayed by his closest friend and that Dwalin _had_ to help. Which is to say he scowled and whisper-shouted _‘No takesies-backsies!’_ looking surprisingly like Thror whenever his council members disagreed with him, though even at that age Dwalin had his doubts that Thror had ever said ‘ _takesies-backsies’_ in his life.

The two of them had done their best unwitting impressions of hobbits- at the time not even knowing such creatures existed- slinking as quietly and as unobtrusively as they could back to Dwalin’s quarters and toward the pantry door. Dwalin had nearly had a heart attack when his father had come in muttering about useless paperwork and determinedly sifting through pieces of parchment on his desk until he found the one he wanted and booked it right back out of the suite again, completely bypassing the two dwarflings frozen by the side of his armchair.

Even having made it in without consequence, Dwalin still wished he had called takesies-backsies.

They ended up sat in the pantry- which was really a full room with windows and everything- for the better part of five hours until Nithi got home and started cooking. Several time they had needed to quickly throw themselves behind shelves and barrels whenever Nithi needed something, Dwalin feeling that crawling sensation that came with doing something he wasn’t supposed to right under his mother’s nose (literally, she was leaning over the shelf he was hiding under in order to smell spices). Thorin had at one point accidentally knocked over a sack of flour as well and looked even more like a mini Thror with his hair now streaked nearly white and an offended scowl set into his face. Dwalin nearly got them caught trying not to laugh and failing.

It took Thorin finding the stash of blackberries and sneaking them into his mouth occasionally with waning self-control for Nithi to notice something was amiss. It seemed that with half her blackberry supply gone and the rest quickly diminishing she couldn’t make the butter cookies she’d been planning on but having had the dough already made she decided to improvise.

Having grown both bored and antsy inside the pantry with no (proper) food- Thorin looked guilty and a bit sick with a blue ring around his mouth- the two of them decided to cut their losses and try to escape back to their lessons before dinner, momentarily forgetting that the kitchen was occupied.

Nithi had been waiting, having just finished her last batch of ‘improv cookies’- they were quite good she thought- and she stood leaned against the counter catching Dwalin and Thorin like deer in lantern-lights. Dwalin vividly recalled the visceral fear that made him- and Thorin presumably- spontaneously start apologizing despite ~~their~~ (Dwalin’s) only real transgression that day being ~~them~~ (Dwalin) skipping classes. Thorin had skipped classes as well, being the ringleader he always was, but the blue stain was a giveaway.

He also remembered Thorin- the dirty cheat- copping out with a mumbled excuse of ‘I think I’m late for dinner’ and sprinting out the main door, not without snagging one of the cookies fresh off the tray of course. Dwalin was upset then- and is honestly still a bit bitter now- that Thorin was the first (besides Nithi herself) to taste the glory of her gingersnap cookies. It made no difference how many times Thorin liked to preen and say he was responsible for their creation, Dwalin was still bitter.

Of course Dwalin felt a little better reminding his friend just _why_ exactly he _was_ responsible. It was even better when he brought it up when Thorin was eating blackberries.

In actuality they never ended up getting any of the blackberry butter cookies she did eventually make from what was left- entirely their own fault, though they wouldn’t admit it until decades later- but they did end the day devouring the first ever batch of Nithi’s gingersnap cookies, so in Dwalin’s mind it wasn’t a total loss.

 

Back in the present he quipped at Thorin _“Would be better with blackberries though don’t ya think?”_ and as Thorin colored and those who knew what he was referencing sniggered Dwalin kept munching on his yule gift.

As amusing as it was, not all his memories about the cookies were happy. His last experience with the authentic ones was the eve Erebor fell, a bad memory in and of itself, but made worse with the tainting of one of his favorite things.

 

Nithi’s gingersnap cookies had become a staple food for Dwalin and a legend to those who weren’t luck enough to be regularly acquainted with them. He wasn’t biased at all. Though… in hindsight his sweet tooth was most likely entirely her fault. She’d made a habit of sending someone with a bag of them to him anytime he took extra guard shifts, and that night had been no different.

A young guard who had likely been stationed by their wing of the residences had nervously come up to Dwalin and offered him the pouch with a perfunctory note from his mother chiding him for not eating enough. She’d clearly thought far enough ahead to give the poor thing his own cookie for the trouble- or at least learned enough about her son’s tendency to hoard sweets because he could see crumbs of cookie in the guard’s beard. It didn’t stop the lad from looking longingly at the warm bag he’d just delivered as he walked away though.

Had Thorin been in the mountain and not out hunting he would have been pestering Dwalin at that time of day doing his best to break his friend’s composure even though, _“how am I supposed to be your bloody guard if you won’t let me do my damn job?”_

Thorin did not care.

It was a lovely reprieve, and Dwalin could even eat his cookies in peace and not have to fight off Thorin’s thieving paws. He still missed his friend though. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that Thorin had been away, they wouldn’t have wasted precious time being distracted by a squabble over cookies, though Mahal knew they couldn’t have done anything against the dragon.

He’d only gotten through half the bag when he ran at the alarm and tried to defend the kingdom, and when all hope had been lost he’d run to the royal quarters to protect his king and friends, he picked Dis out of her cradle rushing with the rest of them to get out and he’d found his father trying to council Thror out of the mountain while Thrain bodily dragged his father along. It wasn’t until they’d gotten back to the great hall- rumbling and roaring and screaming still audible from further inside that he realized his mother was nowhere to be found.

Rushing off with the baby princess Dis in his arms his only thought was to get to his mother- never mind that she could have already escaped. Dwalin wished he hadn’t done that.

He’d come to the bridge that lead to their quarters, remembering that his mother and the princess Frís had been meeting that day about one thing or another in their receiving room. The bridge wasn’t there. Frís and Nithi were.

They were trapped no more than twenty meters away, on the other side of the gaping chasm that normally sat safely beneath the walkway but that then seemed to Dwalin like an abyss a league wide. He’d screamed at them, catching their attention, but he’d had little time to do more than make eye contact with his mother- she’d always had such lovely green eyes- before Smaug’s rampaging brought down one of the supporting pillars right on top of them.

It wasn’t until later after he’d remembered how to work his legs and run, after the dust settled and Thorin had come racing back to him only for them both to find themselves a homeless people, after night had fallen and he’d had little Dis pried out of his shaking arms that Dwalin realized he still had half a bag of Nithi’s gingersnap cookies tied to his belt. Well, half a bag of crumbs anyway.

He’d tried to eat them but they tasted like ash in his mouth- though that could have been actual ash- so he handed them off to Thorin, letting him have both the first and last of Nithi’s gingersnap cookies.

 

He’d not been able to even look at sweets for nearly a decade after, and the one time he’d tried what the men called gingerbread- it was like trying to eat a block of seasoned wood- he could only taste the ash of Smaug’s ruin. And way too much cinnamon. It was a cheap knockoff at best, and he swore off anything that even remotely resembled gingersnap… until the day Bilbo Baggins handed him a cookie and a silver tin, deep within the stone of Erebor he’d taken a bite and was home.

He didn’t taste ash anymore but the delicious warmth of a kitchen hearth and he felt the fraying paper of the notes that accompanies Nithi’s cookie deliveries instead of slightly warm silver. He’d been distraught once to learn that’d he’d forgotten what the cookies had tasted like, just like he’d forgotten what shade of green his’ mother’s eyes had been- just a shade lighter than Bilbo’s with the gold-ish edging like Bofur’s- but he remembered now, and it was even more of a homecoming than walking in through Erebor’s gate the year previous when a dragon still lay beneath their feet.

 

Still chewing Dwalin hadn’t realized he’d started crying until the Hobbit stood up and stepped tentatively towards him repeating his offer to make something else since clearly Dwalin was… conflicted about his current gift. He needn’t have worried as Thorin and Balin stepped in to explain and regale Bilbo with the stories Dwalin had just been reliving. Those who had been there or heard them before jumped in to add details someone else had forgotten, and Balin seemed to have a treasure of old stories about the cookies and Dwalin’s (and Thorin’s more often than not) youth and mischief to share.

By the time the fire had burned low, the company had spent many hours lost in raucous amusement at the old shenanigannary that use to be gotten up to in Erebor’s halls, Fili and Kili had sworn up and down as well  that they could fill such big shoes and then some.

Dwalin was staring down at the one cookie he had left when Bilbo quietly came up to him and informed him that he had more that hadn’t fit in the tin and if Dwalin wanted to come over the next morning to get them he’d be happy to share. When the hobbit volunteered to make them on request for special occasions loud enough for everyone to hear a great cheer went up and Dwalin pulled him into a hug.

 _“It’s not quite the same as I remember it.”_ Thorin had said to him later when they were alone. It was clear he wasn’t just talking about the cookies, but Dwalin understood. Much had changed and much had been lost, but some things can come back to you, like a favorite food, or even a kingdom.

 _“Not the same. But better I think. Sometimes we need to look forward to look behind_.” Dwalin had never been very poetic, hadn't thought it worth his time for how bad at it he was, but he had his moments.

_“But I’m still not gonna let you forget the blackberries.”_

_“Oh, are you!- I was fourteen!”_

_“Yes, fourteen, and you ate every single one of those blackberries and threw them up later so not even you got to enjoy them!”_

**Author's Note:**

> My experience with gingerbread went somewhat opposite of Dwalin's, I had brick-like American gingerbread for years until I tried German gingerbread and now I can't stand the American stuff except to make houses out of. (The wifi in my house went down about the same time as my computer crashed so posting took far longer than I was comfortable with until I got all that mess sorted, but at least it's here now. (and saved as a copy on a usb drive as it should have been in the first place.))


End file.
